


Transcendental Youth

by takumiismypatronus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - 2019-2020 Hockey Season Without Coronavirus, M/M, Minor League Baseball, Seattle Schooners - Freeform, [scintillating sports action here!], alternate 2020, handwaving in the general direction of sports, handwaving in the general direction of sports contracts, kent is his own biggest obstacle, kent/happiness is my jam, real hockey players treated like fictional characters, the opposite of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takumiismypatronus/pseuds/takumiismypatronus
Summary: Can Kent Parson learn to play ball?Or that year when Kent fell in love with a (much younger) major league baseball player.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37
Collections: Good Intentions: Abandoned and Unfinished WIPs





	Transcendental Youth

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in 2016, long before we knew the Falconers won the 2016 Cup in Check, Please! and before Zimbits went public on center ice.
> 
> In real NHL history, that was before the Vegas Golden Knights had ever played a game. 
> 
> In the years since this story's conception, four Stanley Cup champions have made history and Seattle has been awarded the 32nd NHL team. I've also learned a lot more about hockey.
> 
> And let's not talk about what 2020 has really been like.
> 
> I've tried to fill in the gaps in the story, which was planned to be about three times longer. You should be able to follow along, but I'm happy to answer questions. It's a love story. It has a happy ending.

**1\. Soar Ever-Upwards (on Air Gone Black with Flies)**

“Three! … Two! … One! … Happy New Year!”

Kent Parson rings in the new decade at a swanky Las Vegas nightclub with Howzer and Lermontov.

He’s only had two beers and while being the most sober person at a party is sometimes no fun, this has been okay. He’s signed a few autographs, danced a bit, eaten some decent shrimp cocktail. But now Howie has not one, but two hot girls in really short matching bandage dresses hanging all over him, and that just reminds Kent that he’s going home alone. To his cat.

It’s 2020. And fuck. Just … fuck.

This is Kent’s eleventh year in the NHL. And rather than slowing down, he’s at the top of his game--and has the hardware to prove it: three Stanley Cup rings, two Art Ross trophies, one Conn Smythe, and a bronze from Worlds. And yet…

Las Vegas, once so shiny and bright, has lost its gleam. Maybe he’s just too old for a city like this: the constant parties, the fame whores, the fucking neon. He’ll be thirty this summer and has to admit that selling his condo on the Strip and buying a house in the Summerville has crossed his mind more than once. Seeing Zimms and Bitty so disgustingly happy in their new suburban love nest makes him think about patio furniture and puppies.

He never figured he’d be one to yearn for domestic bliss, but a few years ago he’d met Taras Katkov through Swoops’ ex. Gorgeous Tarusha, a former Olympic gymnast, was a trampoline coach for Cirque du Soleil. The fourteen months they shared was about a year longer than any of Kent’s previous adult relationships. He really thought they were in it for the long haul. He’d been looking at rings.

But as Tarusha had said, hockey is a jealous mistress. That particular season had ended with a Stanley Cup for the Aces, but the off-season ended with a messy breakup for Kent.

He took it hard. He poured everything into his game and emerged in 2018 with yet another Cup victory, but it didn’t mean as much when there was no one special to celebrate with him.

Kent’s contract with the Aces expires at the end of this season. It’s his first flirt with being a UFA, something he never really expected. He figured he’d be with Vegas for his whole career: Crosby is the Pens; Ovechkin is the Caps; Parson is the Aces. But the negotiations seem to be stalled while the front office contemplates a change of management, and maybe coaching. So perhaps he should think about signing with a new team. Maybe head back east. Zimms has hinted that the Falcs might be interested, and playing on Jack’s line again might be the best possible end to a fantastic career.

Not that he’s thinking about retiring. He’s one of the best players in the league—he just has to keep reminding himself that that’s important.

The band on stage starts a new set. They’re good; and probably hoping to follow in the footsteps of The Killers and Imagine Dragons—Vegas bands that hit it big. This party, packed with celebrities and style makers (he saw Jaden Smith holding court in the corner—is he even legal to drink?), could be their break. The girl with the microphone looks like she’s still in high school, though and, shit, she might be. He nurses a third beer while he waits for them to end with a flourish and thank the crowd. When the DJ takes over, Kent makes his excuses.

“Night’s still young, man!” Howie shouts, louder than he needs to. “No need to go home alone.”

Kent looks around the club, at colored lights dancing off a million sequins that adorn the beautiful people of Vegas. There was a time when any of these girls would have been fine, particularly if she’d pose for a selfie first, brag to her friends after. It was the antithesis of what he’d really wanted. And he’s so grateful that he doesn’t have to play that game any longer.

“Not really gonna find anyone here,” he tells Hauser. “Lotta straight guys looking for girls. No one looking for me.”

Hauser just shrugs.

“You want share a cab?” Monty asks, his Russian accent thick with alcohol. “I call Masha before I pass out. S’already afternoon in Moskva.”

“Sure, man.” Kent turns to Howie. “Pens on Thursday,” he reminds him. “Sid’s probably already asleep and you should be thinking about it.” Kent knows the Penguins flew into McClaren that afternoon, so no one would have to travel with a NYE hangover.

“Crosby is an old man,” Howzer gripes, almost too softly to be heard. He waves them away as girl one whispers in his ear and girl two goes for his neck. “Believe me Cap, I’ll be in bed before you know it,” he says with an exaggerated leer.

In the cab, Kent checks his phone. There’s just the expected texts wishing him a happy new year, a couple of snaps from his twin sister Kendra, an auto-reminder to pay his annual condo association fees. From earlier in the evening, there is a single champagne emoji from his younger brother, who is an exchange student in Buenos Aries.

“S novym godom,” Lermontov says, when Kent gets out of the car. 

<> Kent returns in Russian as he gives a tired smile and a fistbump.

Then he takes the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor, unlocks the door, and scoops a cranky Kit into his arms. His condo overlooks the Strip and tonight he sees only its artifice, not its beauty. How can he have everything he always wanted, and have it not be enough?

_X_

[call with Kendra establishing that Kent is lonely

“Maybe I just need to get laid.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

Plans big party for their 30th birthday in July]

**2\. Ride the Highest Wave**

Kent has been to nearly every All Star Game held since he was drafted, so it’s his sixth time at this particular circus. It’s never been in Arizona before, so at least that’s new. 

Glendale isn’t much of a hockey town. In fact, outside the arena, there’s more noise about baseball than there is about hockey. Friday morning, Kent gets the scoop from the massage therapist working the kinks out of his temperamental shoulder.

“Spring training starts in two weeks,” the woman explains as she leans her elbow into Kent’s left trap. “Seattle and San Diego have their training camps just down the road. I’ve already seen some of the players around. No big names yet, but I’ve worked with them for a couple of years, so I recognize some of the guys. I hear a few will even be at the fan fair.”

Kent doesn’t think about baseball again until later that night. As he and Lermontov sit on the autograph stage, they’re approached by two men in Seattle Mariners snapbacks. Only one of them is wearing a hockey jersey. Aces, number 90.

“Hey,” Kent greets them, “Major League Baseball know you’re cheating on it?” He’s not sure if these are ball players in Arizona for spring training, or dual-sport fans, but they both have the look of athletes—broad shoulders and a kind of focus that Kent’s seen on and off the ice for twenty-plus years.

Hockey Jersey grins. “I love hockey—gives me something to watch all winter. I grew up in Henderson, outside Vegas, so I’ve been following your career since I was in grade school.”

Right. Grade school.

Kent gives his best media smile. “That’s great. We’re all doing it for the fans, after all.” He catches the little nudge the older guy gives the kid. “You want a photo?”

“Actually, I really just wanted to say hello. I’m Logan Gomez.” He pauses as if the name should mean something to Kent. It doesn’t. “I…well, you sent me a letter. In 2017, the year I signed with Seattle.”

Realization dawns and Kent’s smile is finally genuine as he says, “I hope it’s made a positive difference for you. We really appreciated your support and bravery. Mariners treat you right?”

A few years ago, after Kent’s second Cup, Zimms’ second season, and Bitty’s graduation, Kent and Jack had organized a group coming out of a handful of queer NHL players. More remarkably, over the next few days, athletes in the other three major sports leagues also came out, and then it trickled to soccer, women’s teams, the minor leagues and colleges, and to athletes in individual sports as well. Kent and Jack spent a lot of their off-season that year working with You Can Play and sending personalized notes to the athletes who had joined them in bringing attention to diversity in athletics. 

“It’s been good,” Logan says, “but I’ve only been playing in the minors. Maybe I’ll make it to the bigs this year. But Seattle is totally known for being queer-friendly—and they expect that from their farm teams too.”

“Nice. Good to hear.”

There’s another nudge, and Logan elbows the guy back. “And this asshole is Parrish.”

“What he really wants to say,” Parrish interjects, “is that tomorrow is his birthday. And he wonders if you’re free for a drink?”

Kent finally gives the kid a real look over. He’s definitely hot. Dark hair and green eyes, a hint of stubble. And Kent’s always had a thing for guys wearing his jersey. But…

“So, twenty-one, huh?” he asks, hoping he’s wrong. He’s fishing a little, and it’s probably obvious, but he’s not into robbing the cradle.

“Yeah, actually,” Logan says, completely honest. His smile is open, maybe a bit hopeful. “It would be my first drink ever,” he jokes. 

Kent is startled into a laugh. He likes a sense of humor; he likes a bit of swagger. But twenty-one is really goddamn young.

“Well, congrats. Afraid I’m fully booked all weekend,” Kent lies. “And I fly back to Vegas on Monday just in time to catch a flight to Winnipeg.”

“Okay, cool. Maybe next time you’re in Seattle? I’m LoganRuns on Twitter.”

Kent shakes his hand. The kid’s got a nice grip. “Good to meet you, Logan. Have a great spring training and good luck getting to the show.”

“Dude, you are the least subtle wingman ever,” Kent hears as they walk away. He doesn’t catch Parrish’s reply.

<> Dima says, leaning into Kent’s space. He kept his mouth shut through the whole exchange. The fact that he’s never once cockblocked Kent is one of the many things Kent likes about his best friend. <>

<> Kent says, referring to his half-brother, a junior in high school. He switches back to English. “Too fucking young.”

“But maybe not too young to fuck, da?”

Kent just shrugs. “Not this time.”

_X_

Kent doesn’t know if anyone else catches it, but he sees how Crosby looks at Malkin. Maybe it’s just envy—Malkin enjoying the All Star weekend with his beautiful pregnant wife and their exuberant son looks pretty idyllic—but Kent has been the Sad Gay Friend™ before. He knows what it looks like.

Sidney Crosby didn’t come out in 2017, when Kent and Jack and Tyler and the others did. Nor has he come out at any point since. And it’s none of Kent’s business who chooses to stay in the closet while being totally in love with a teammate. (And exchanging hurried, sloppy blow jobs with another team’s captain. Ahem.)

Crosby’s been really careful. There’s no public indication that he has any reason to come out at all. He’s never been papped in a compromising situation; he’s only been romantically linked to women. In fact, lately it’s been all over the hockey news that he’s engaged to be married. Except. Kent caught this thing on TMZ Sports that compared Crosby’s new fiancée—Ali? Ashley? Kathy?—with his sister, Taylor. And Kent has to admit, the likeness is kind of creepy. TMZ was all over the “Sid the Kid wants to bang his sister” angle, but Kent read it more as “my sister is the only woman I’m comfortable with, I’ll find someone similar and it will all be fine.” And maybe it will be. Marrying a woman certainly is the simplest means to getting the family that Crosby’s always wanted.

But after the initial, expected shitstorm, coming out has been really good. Kent has never regretted it. His health, his game, his relationships, have all been stronger since. Hiding takes its toll. Kent can’t help but think that hard knocks aren’t the only cause of Sid’s well-documented head problems.

Years ago, Kent made a very deliberate decision to be himself. Out and proud, if you will. It was just the latest iteration of his philosophy of leading by example. He knows that he’s been a positive role model for a generation of young, gay athletes.

[…]

He turns down the invitation to dinner with Bob and Alicia and hits a steakhouse with part of the Russian hockey mafia: Dima, Tater, Breadman, and Kuznetzov.

After the server has left with the orders, Kuzy raises his shot glass. <> They all toast.

<> Kent asks.

<> Kuzy says. He wears an A for the Caps, so with Ovechkin on long-term IR, much of the capain’s duties fall to him. <>

Every hockey player fears the serious injury that can suddenly, irrevocably end his career. Alexander Ovechkin took a puck to the face early in the season—a rebound from the post on his own shot while fucking around without a bucket. The black eye cleared up, but he’s still not playing.

“Concussion that bad?” Kent asks.

“No, not head, it’s…” Kuzy says a couple of words in Russian, but Kent doesn’t understand. He looks around the table, but the other Russian speakers just shrug. Tater puts his hand over his eye, palm out and closes his fingers, but the pantomime doesn’t help.

“Here.” Dima points to his phone screen where he’s pulled up a translation app. Detached retina. Oh, shit.

[…]

The Twitter notification comes later that night as Kent talks with Dima, Bitty, and Zimms in the hotel bar.

[more about how he made up with Jack with Bitty’s help]

 **Logan Gomez** @LoganRuns  2 min  
Great to meet @realKentParson at #NHLAllStar Fan Fair. Proud to be #LGBTathletes #goAcesgo

Without giving it any thought, Kent hits Follow.

**3\. Let Those Glass Doors Open Wide**

Kent’s on the tarmac when his phone pings with a text from Ralph, his agent. He waits until they’ve checked into their hotel, then gives him a call.

“Ralphieeee, what’s up?” 

Ralph Washington is sixty-five years old, a black guy with salt and pepper hair and thick square eyeglasses who’s been in the deals business for more than four decades. He’s been Kent’s agent since Kent was just seventeen, recommended by Bad Bob Zimmermann himself. Kent despairs of the time when Ralph finally retires; he’s quietly hoping his own retirement coincides.

“Fucking trade crap. Are you sitting?”

“Yeah, hit me,” Kent says, though he’s actually standing at the hotel window overlooking downtown Winnipeg. Trades are one of the hardest parts of pro sports, and he wonders who he’s in danger of losing now. With the deadline looming at the end of the month, he knows there’s going to be movement. Please don’t let it be Monty, he thinks, who is one of his best friends as well integral to the team.

“Rumor is that Ferry wants the cap space and he’s shopping you around.”

Kent blinks a few times as this sinks in. Bill Ferry owns the Aces. In Kent’s experience he prefers to leave these decisions to the GM, so it’s a big deal if Ferry is pushing this agenda himself.

“Me?!” The silence on the other end of the line confirms what Kent thought he heard. “Okay. Shit. Can he even do that?”

Ralph works hard for his clients, and Kent’s contract is highly favorable. Kent knows he could block this by refusing to waive his no-trade clause, but doing so would doubtless guarantee the Aces wouldn’t renew his contract at the end of the season. Ferry is known to hold a grudge.

For all his internal bluster at the new year, Kent isn’t really sure he wants to be an unrestricted free agent. The idea that he could spend his entire off-season without team—without a home—spikes his anxiety. And while Vegas won back-to-back Cups in 2017 and 2018, last season they washed out of the playoffs in round one. And unless something turns around quickly, they aren’t likely to be going even that far this year either. Scott and Swoops are on long-term IR, so goal production is way down; their starting goalie is pretty green, and the goals against average is way up. Kent won’t be coming out of his current contract with his strongest season behind him. Heading to a new team, with half a season to prove his worth, might be a golden opportunity.

“What are my options if I waive?” Kent asks.

“Depends on what you’re looking for. Are you willing to be a rental? See if you can be the missing piece on a Cup contender and then go UFA? Or do you want me to be looking for a contract extension?

“If it’s that one, there aren’t a lot of teams that can afford you. You’re a three-time Cup winner, captain for seven years, you’ve broken several of Gretzky’s records…”

“Falconers?” Kent asks.

Ralph chuckles. “Not unless they’re dumping Zimmermann—or their whole third line. Honestly, it looks like Habs and Schooners have the most leeway—and the most to gain regardless of price.”

Montreal and Seattle. There couldn’t be two teams more different from the Aces. Or two cities more different from Vegas.

“The money doesn’t matter,” Kent says, and smiles when he hears Ralph snort, because of course the money matters. “What else can I get?”

They spend another forty minutes talking about best- and worst-case scenarios, and Kent actually feels okay as he heads down to team dinner. He’d been feeling like he was in a rut, and suddenly it’s been busted wide open.

At eight that night, Kent knocks on Lermontov’s door holding a couple of beers, and an hour later, Kent thinks he’s ready to face any negotiations that come his way.

_X_

The dressing room is empty when Pamela Parson and Kent sit down in front of the camera.

“How’s the baby?” Kent asks Luke, the guy behind AcesTV. “Getting any sleep yet?”

Kent makes a point of knowing everyone in the organization—the other players and management, of course, but also the staff in the front and back offices, and the rink employees.

“She’s teething now, so the progress we were making at night is out the window.”

Pamela winces in sympathy and even Kent remembers that his half-brother was a terror when he was cutting teeth. Nevermind that he’s seventeen now—and a terror for other reasons.

“So, you know the drill…what it means to be on the trip, what you’re looking forward to. And for you, Kent, how your mom has supported you.”

Kent’s step-mother teaches video and animation to high school students, so she’s poised in front of the camera. She’s also really photogenic, though she looks nothing like Kent. Her First Nations heritage is obvious: hair so dark it’s nearly black and golden skin. She’s beautiful and kind, and Kent knows that he and Kendra got very lucky when she joined the Parson family. Well, as lucky as could be hoped after they lost their own mother to ovarian cancer.

“This is the second Aces moms’ trip and it’s exciting to see some of the same moms again, as well as meet some new ones,” Pamela says. “Kent’s dad used to brag all the time about the cool things they did on the dads’ trips, so I’m glad someone finally realized that the moms are fun, too.”

“It’s more than being fun, though,” Kent interjects. “Our moms were just as involved in our early hockey careers as our dads—as chauffeurs and chaperones, cheerleaders, and sometimes even as coaches—did you know Billy Howzer’s mom coached his mites team? They sacrificed too—so it’s great to give back. Pamela is the reason I play hockey at all—it was her idea.”

“If you’d known him as a kid, you too would have done just about anything to channel that energy,” she admits. “And I’m Canadian, so that was the obvious choice.”

“I love seeing Kent behind the scenes—as a team member and as a captain. He grew into a really good person.” 

Kent bumps her shoulder with his. “Aww, shucks.”

“I’m always impressed by all the boys—their dedication and professionalism. Hockey is more than just a game.”

Kent chuckles. “Said like a true Canadian. Anyway, we’re on our best behavior when our moms are in the room. There’s a lot more swearing with our dads.”

“What are the other differences between the moms’ and the dads’ trips?” Luke prompts.

“More baby pictures!” Kent says. “At the dinner where we present our moms with their own Aces jerseys, they show pictures of us as kids in all our gear. I doubt my dad even knows where to find those.”

“I think we actually have video tonight,” Pamela says mildly and Kent groans.

“You brought the one where I lose the tooth and freak out, didn’t you?”

“Mmmaybe,” Pamela hums. “Besides losing a tooth is a hockey rite of passage.”

“I was seven. It wasn’t even a hockey incident.”

“It’s very cute,” she tells the camera. “And it did happen on the ice.”

“I’ve still never lost a tooth in hockey,” Kent muses.

Pamela looks aghast and quickly raps her knuckles on the wooden bench. “Don’t tempt fate!”

“Can you talk about what happens on the trip?” Luke asks, getting them back on track. 

“All the moms are flying into Vegas today and we have a special dinner and reception at Caesar’s. Then we travel with the team to Montreal tomorrow and go through their entire routine: practice skate, team dinner, morning warmup and watching video of the Habs. Then all the moms sit together for the game, do a little celly…” Here Kent holds up his crossed fingers. “…and fly back to Vegas where we do the same thing the next day when the Aces play the Senators at home.

“But we also get a little time away from our boys while they rest before the games. In Montreal, we’re meeting up with Alicia Zimmermann—Bad Bob Zimmermann’s wife—who is going to tour the city with us. She a hockey mom, too, of course.”

“And a friend,” Kent says.

“Yes, Kent’s dad and I met Bob and Alicia several times when our sons played together in juniors. We co-hosted a big party to celebrate the Oceanic winning the oh-nine Memorial Cup and we all had dinner together the night before the draft…” Her camera-ready smile falters as she realizes that that was the night of Jack’s overdose, and the last time she saw the Zimmermanns. She looks at Luke, then over at Kent.

“It’s fine, Pam.” Kent leans over and gives her a side hug. He knows this part will be edited out of the final video—if this video even sees the light of day considering his probable trade before the end of the month. “It was a long time ago. Everyone’s okay now.”

**4\. Take to the Skies**

Kent hardly remembers the second half of February. He plays two at home, as well as games in Texas, California, Tennessee, and Alberta. He spends hours on the phone with Ralph and meets at the Bellagio with the Habs’ Assistant GM, who makes it shamefully obvious that Kent’s Quebecois has gotten rusty. A few days later, he makes a quick visit to the Pacific Northwest to meet with Seattle’s management team. It rains for twenty-three of the twenty-four hours he’s there.

On the trade deadline, it’s announced: Kent Parson and Dimitri Lermontov have been traded to the Schooners in return for 22-year old forward Kalle Pentinen and a top prospect, as well as Seattle’s second and fourth picks in the 2021 draft. It looks like the Aces want to rebuild with younger (cheaper) players and Seattle is serious about a Cup run. It’s the biggest trade of the year.

The local media and the fans are upset. Kent has been a big personality in Vegas for more than a decade: active in the community, particularly with youth hockey programs and animal rescue; Grand Marshall of the 2019 Pride parade; and an all-around positive ambassador for Las Vegas. Even his long-defunct yourfaveisproblematic page is remarkably short (2012 quote in Men’s Health said to be fatphobic: “I don’t really have a type. If I had to label it, I guess the people I’m attracted to are all athletes, people who really look after their bodies.”)

The closest Kent Parson had been to a scandal was when he led his team in boycotting the traditional visit to the White House after winning the Stanley Cup in 2017. It was no surprise when the Trump administration didn’t even bother inviting them back after the win the following year.

Of all the news regarding the trade that he scans as he waits for his flight to Sea-Tac, his favorite is the Sun’s front page headline “ACES HIGH???” He sends it to Kendra with a bunch of laughing crying emojis. 

Even though he knew it was coming, it’s hard to wrap his head around the change. All Kent’s worldly possessions are being packed by strangers because he’s expected to join the Schooners’ morning skate tomorrow, and then suit up in gray and blue the very next evening. At least he won’t have to face the Aces for another month. Hopefully by that time, he’ll have clicked with his new line and be consistently putting the puck in the net.

There’s still half an hour before boarding, so he takes the call from the real estate agent when it rings. She sounds young, but proficient.

“Do you have a neighborhood in mind?” the agent asks after introducing herself as Courtney.

Kent shrugs, then, because she can’t see him, says, “Not really. Basically the only place I’ve ever been in Seattle is Amazon Arena.”

“If you want to sound like a local, you need to start calling it the Jungle.”

Kent laughs. “Yeah, okay. Though it’s possible I may not be around long enough to ever be ‘local.’”

Courtney indicates her understanding, “A six month lease that permits cats, right?”

They talk for a few minutes about what Kent likes and doesn’t about his current place. “I’d like to be pretty close to…the Jungle, even though the practice facility is in…Northgate? My Vegas condo overlooks the Strip, so I’m used to city life, but a real neighborhood with a route to run and places to walk to would be nice too.”

“Great! Anything else I should know that will help me set some tours up for this afternoon?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary for the NHL: I’m single and loaded.”

“I can work with that,” the agent says. Kent can hear the smile in her voice now, “Welcome to Seattle.”

_X_

There’s several inches of snow on the ground when Kent wakes up before sunrise. The news crawler on the bottom of the tv screen says that all the local schools are closed.

It’s been an eventful few days. Rather than the high-rise apartments he’d expected, Courtney had shown him a couple of condominium townhouses in residential areas. On Friday, his first day off, he’ll be moving into a two-story home in Capitol Hill with a tiny backyard and a shared rooftop patio. It seems a bit IKEA for the five grand he’s paying each month in rent, but he was aware that this would be a more expensive city than Vegas. And the place does have huge windows and a lot of natural light, which Courtney assures him is vital in a city as dark and rainy as Seattle.

Then yesterday he’d practiced with the team and spent two hours—on the ice and off—getting promotional photos wearing his new sweater and gear. It turns out that what he thought was just gray and blue is really “storm and sea.” Whatever—the marketing nerds with the Aces had once tried to explain that their home jerseys were “spade” rather than black. Obviously those people have too much time on their hands.

Tue, Mar 3, 2020 7:02 AM  
**Erasmus Jokela:** I will pick you and Lermontov up at 9

The text from Kent’s new captain surprises him. He figured it would be his own responsibility to get to the arena this morning, particularly since his reception at the practice rink yesterday had been a little chilly, pun intended. Apparently the captain was really close to the guy they traded to the Aces—fellow Finn and all that.

Well, at least he won’t have to try to find a cab with all-wheel drive.

The ride to the Jungle is slow but uneventful. Jokela had picked up the rookie goalie, Lyle Shamrock, on his way from Bellevue, so Kent, in his attempt to be as humble as possible, climbs into the back seat of the SUV as soon as Joker dumps his kid’s car seat into the far back. He’s disappointed that the Shopkins stickers plastered all over the window make it hard to enjoy the quiet, snowy city.

“Parse so small he needs borrow toddler seat,” Monty chirps, making the two Schooners laugh. Good. If taking some shit helps break the ice, Kent’s willing to be on the receiving end.

Later, as he pulls on a flannel shirt after the morning’s practice, Kent confesses, “I wasn’t expecting snow. I thought it just rained here, like nine months out of the year.”

“Yeah, the joke in the pacific northwest is that the rainy season ends on July fifth,” Shamrock—“call me Lucky”—says. “We only get snow a few times a year, and the city doesn’t really know how to deal with it.

“Have you ever driven in snow?” Lucky asks. The other guys start to laugh at the stupid question and he sputters. “I just mean, Las Vegas, right? It doesn’t snow there?”

Kent cuts him a break; the kid’s maybe nineteen and is obviously a little star-struck. “Yeah man, I grew up in New York state, and spent a few years in Quebec back in juniors. But I have to admit that I may have to rethink my choice of cars. A convertible is sweet in the desert, but probably not very practical here.” There are a few nods of agreement.

“So how do I reach the concierge?” Kent asks, bending over to lace his shoes. When he stands back up, he swears there are twenty-one pairs of eyes on him.

“The what?”

“Team concierge—or whatever you call it here. You know, if I need to get show tickets or dry cleaning. If you need family picked up at the airport—or help finding a new car…” he trails off. 

“The Aces have someone who does that?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe that happens in Las Vegas,” Jokela cuts in, “but our team is not made of celebrities. If you want a personal assistant, you’ll have to hire your own.”

Ouch. So much for perceived humility.

<> he hears Shevshenko say under his breath, as the Schooners’ enforcer stands in front of his locker with a towel around his waist.

Kent ignores the slur until he’s leaving the room. Then he looks Shevshenko in the eye, <>

Lermontov laughs, swings a heavy arm across Kent’s back, and calls over his shoulder, “I maybe should have mentioned, Ilya, I taught Kent Parson Russian.”

**5\. Let the Music Play**

Jokela doesn’t take Kent directly back to his hotel. Instead he drives his Forester to the Subaru dealership in Ballard.

“I don’t have a choice?” Kent asks, and he’s mostly kidding, but then Joker and Lucky drive away. So, no, he doesn’t really have a choice.

“You should shop now,” Monty says. “I want big lunch and a nap before tonight’s game.”

Kent’s never bought a car straight off the lot, but forty-five minutes later he’s handed the keys to a lapis blue WRX.

“Car and Drivers say Ferrari makes a car good in snow.” Monty waves his phone to indicate his method of in-depth research.

“Just get in.”

_X_

Seattle and Vegas are both in the Western conference, so the Aces play at the Jungle multiple times every season. But following Brandywine down the lit tunnel to the ice feels completely different this time.

Rocking Guns n’ Roses as the introductory song isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but this is The Jungle. So when Kent steps onto the ice in the dark (If you want it you're gonna bleed, but it's the price to pay), somehow it all seems…monumental. His heart is thumping hard in his chest in a way it hasn’t since game seven of the 2018 finals.

Kent is tonight’s starting center, which feels a bit like he’s taking cuts. But everyone in this arena knows what the Schooners paid to get him there, and they all want to see if he can produce. 

The home crowd roars when his picture flashes on the Jumbotron. He’s still number 90, which was part of the negotiations. (His agent says giving the new team an easy concession makes them feel magnanimous—and even more likely to bend on some other point of contention.)

Jokela whops him hard on the back as he takes his place outside the faceoff circle, behind and to the right. “Show time, new guy.”

“Hey, man, didn’t I just dust you three days ago?” Cody Eakin chirps, as the Dallas center skates up to the dot. And yeah, the Stars had beaten the Aces, 3-1, in the last game Kent played with them. At least the single goal had been his.

“Whole new team means whole new game, Squeaks.”

[Scintillating Sports Action Here!]

_X_

Other than a quick trip to Vancouver, Kent spends the first weeks of March in Seattle. He settles into his new place, hires a cat sitter (but not a personal assistant), meets his neighbors, and explores the neighborhood. Capitol Hill is packed with bars and restaurants flying the rainbow flag, but Kent’s not sure if that’s just his neighborhood or Seattle in general. It’s both tacky and welcoming.

When he had visited Seattle the month before, there had been no discussion of salaries, bonuses, or sponsorships; all the contract negotiations went through Ralph. Instead, general manager Greg Bartlett and his staff had impressed upon Kent that their organization was a family and the mental and emotional lives of the players were as important as their physical wellbeing. “We want to win games, of course,” Bartlett had said. “And we see you as the key to the playoffs—but we also want you to know we’ll have your back. In all things.”

“In other words, we’re okay with your…lifestyle,” assistant GM Harris had added. Kent caught Bartlett’s embarrassed grimace, but he couldn’t really fault Harris. The man was probably over sixty, had played for the Rangers back in the day, and the idea that an openly homosexual player could share your locker room was probably still hard to grasp.

“Thank you, sir,” Kent had replied politely. “That’s good to hear.”

The game against the Flames is when Kent sees that the Schooners will really walk their talk. Calgary is Lyle Shamrock’s hometown and March 17th is his birthday as well. The stands are packed with Flames fans, but there is a rowdy group behind the Schooners’ bench that isn’t wearing red. Instead they’re dressed in emerald and most wear shamrock head boppers and green shutter shades. Many of them hold signs with some variation on the themes of “getting Lucky” and “Lucky charms.”

Not many teams would start their mostly untested rookie goalie this close to playoffs—especially against a team as high in the standings as Calgary. But Coach Dryden knows that the Seattle fans in the stands are Shamrock’s family and friends. Getting to start an NHL game in your hometown—even if it’s not for the hometown team—is a dream come true for many young players.

“Points are not more important than people,” Coach D says that night in the visitors’ dressing room before they hit the ice. “That said—Shamrock, you better kick some ass.”

“Yes, Coach!”

The Schooners edge out the win, 3-2, with Brandy in the crease for the overtime. Lucky looks relieved when he comes back to the bench—sometimes putting people first means giving them the opportunity, and sometimes it means taking the pressure off.

Kent is honored to be one of the guys invited out after the game with Lucky and his supporters. Mr. Shamrock is a loud bear of a man who works in renewable energy and who, it’s obvious, has always been Lucky’s biggest cheerleader on his rise to the NHL. He tells a story about Lyle’s birth day: “The doc gave us a window of four days for an induction. With a name like Shamrock, there was no fucking way we could pass up St. Pat’s Day!” 

Kent doesn’t realize until he’s tucked into his hotel bed, Lermontov snoring on the other side of the room, that Lucky’s mom wasn’t there, or mentioned at all. That’s curious, but Kent’s not the captain and so it’s really none of his business.

_X_

Near the end of the month, Kent gets a Twitter DM from the kid who plays baseball for the Mariners.

**Logan Gomez** @LoganRuns When I mentioned Seattle is queer-friendly, I didn’t expect you’d beg to be traded here. [grin emoji] Can I take you to lunch on Wednesday? I checked your game schedule and it looks like you might be free.

He sends a quick reply and then wonders if it was too flirtatious. He’s honestly not looking for anything more than a friendly face. But the response is immediate—and equally flirtatious.

**Kent Parson** @realKentParson Lunch? I don’t rate dinner?

 **Logan Gomez** @LoganRuns Lunch means if we’re having fun, we can do dinner as well.

Kent smiles broadly at the message. Ballsy. And he nearly writes that, but decides it’s too crass. And why does he suddenly care so much anyway?

 **Kent Parson** @realKentParson Bold

 **Logan Gomez** @LoganRuns Optimistic

 **Logan Gomez** @LoganRuns La Cocina Oaxaqueña at Pine & Melrose. 12:30? You’ll like Capitol Hill.

Kent Parson @realKentParson I’ve heard that. See you there.

**6\. Shine on His Rising Way**

Kent decides to walk to his lunch date. It’s the first of April, dry and sunny, and he knows he should take advantage of the beautiful weather; rain is in the forecast for the next several days and then he’s on the road for the last games of the regular season. He arrives at the restaurant early and asks to sit at one of the wrought iron tables outside. He’s shown to a two-top by a young woman with straight dark hair and dark red lipstick.

From his vantage point, Kent can see both up and down the block, so he sees Logan come around the corner, check out his reflection in a window and spit his gum into a trashcan.

Kent stands and there’s a moment of awkwardness—do they hug? shake hands?—before they both just sit down.

[Gum  
Gold chain  
Reminder that Logan’s only twenty-one and maybe he should examine his feelings about that. But later.]

[…]

Inside the front door of the townhouse, they take off their shoes and hang their coats. The anticipation is palpable and Logan doesn’t disappoint. He yanks on Kent’s belt loop, pulling him closer. Their lips touch, their mouths open, and the kiss is sizzling.

How can mint be so cool and so hot at the same time? Kent thinks. And then he doesn’t think again for a long minute.

**7\. Arch Your Back**

Kent reluctantly breaks the kiss. “So this is my place…” Logan looks around the living room. There’s a ridiculously large painting of a cat over the fireplace and a short stack of books on an end table. Mostly memoirs. He introduces him to Kit, obviously the cat in the painting, who sniffs delicately at Logan’s sock and then disappears again.

Logan gets pointed toward the bathroom, and Kent is alone to futz around his kitchen, getting them each a glass of filtered water, and trying to decide what music is appropriate. Between this date and the specter of the game against the Aces tomorrow, Kent feels a little off balance. Which is…worrisome. When he’s nervous he tends to make a fool of himself.

Well, fake it till you make it usually works. When Logan comes back, Kent takes a sip of his water and places the glass on the kitchen counter.

“So. Pitch or catch?” he asks with a smirk. The look he gets in return is incredulous.

“Did you really just…? Maaaan, that is the oldest joke in the book. As soon as anyone knows you’re a gay ball player…”

All Kent’s swagger falls completely away. “I…sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive. Shit.”

Logan shakes his head, seemingly resigned. “At least I don’t play football; then all I’d get are wide receiver and tight end jokes.” He presses his lips together, as if to keep himself from saying more, or to keep from smiling.

That’s when Kent recognizes that Logan is just chirping him and smiles in relief. Then his face falls again. “I don’t actually have any condoms. I don’t tend to be a hookup kind of guy, and with the move and not knowing anyone…” He’s rambling.

Logan steps into his space. He’s got at least five inches on Kent, so it feels a little like looming. But in a good way.

“That’s totally fine. Besides, this isn’t a hookup—it’s the start of something.”

Kent doesn’t know where all this kid’s confidence comes from, but it’s sexy as hell.

“Take me to bed.”

Logan bends and mouths at Kent’s neck. “This is your house,” he reminds him, “—but I’m sure I can find a bedroom.”

With just a little prompting, Logan leads Kent up the stairs and down the hall, past the guest room, then into the master bedroom. He strips out of his Henley and jeans and sits on the edge of Kent’s bed wearing nothing but his briefs. He’s got broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Kent guesses they probably weigh about the same, though Logan is considerably taller. An indistinct tattoo sits low on his abs, half hidden by the waistband of his briefs. He lays back, throws his hands over his head, and stretches, long and lean. He’s already half hard, the outline of his cock plain under the thin black cotton. Kent’s mouth goes dry.

As far as dicks go, he’s never been a size queen. It’s not the length of the wand, it’s the skill of the wizard, et cetera, et cetera. Mostly he’s found that he just likes dicks—and they seem to like him in return. But this. This is porn-worthy USDA Prime.

“Yes, before you ask, like a cheeseball, I do like what I see,” Kent says.

Logan rolls to his side, grinning now, friendly and open. “I can’t tell if you’re staring at my tattoo, or my dick.”

“Um, yes?”

And that gets a low laugh that makes Kent’s breath catch.

“Do you have one?” Logan asks then, eyebrow raised.

Kent returns the smile. “A tattoo, or a dick?”

“Yes.”

Kent turns to face the mirrored closet door. He can see Logan’s reflection, watching him intently. He unbuttons his shirt, drops it to the floor without care. On his right shoulder is his only tattoo: the Aces’ spade inked over the three years he won the Stanley Cup. He flexes his bicep for show and Logan laughs some more.

“Very nice. And the other?” Kent turns back around and strips out of his jeans and briefs. “Mmm…nicer still,” Logan says. “I like it, too.”

Kent’s body is an entire industry. It’s the asset, the machine, the marketing brand. And he knows objectively that he looks good, but that’s never really been the point. At the same time, it’s nice to have some appreciation, especially as he gets older. And sure, that same objective voice understands that thirty means most of his life is still ahead of him, but pro hockey is a young man’s game and he’s now past the mid-point of his career.

Logan leans back, lifts his hips, and then he’s not wearing anything either. He looks as comfortable naked as a person could, which Kent has found common in athletes in team sports. He takes a moment to try to identify Logan’s tattoo. It’s a word, all strong down strokes and delicate flourishes. Each letter is black on top and brightly colored at the base where it starts purple, runs through the spectrum, and ends red. “What does it say?”

“Maybe you should take a closer look.” 

“So much cheese,” Kent complains, but he crawls onto the bed and crouches over Logan’s legs. The tattoo says FAITH. Kent says, “God,” then “I really want to blow you.”

Kent looks up as Logan’s long eyelashes flutter shut. “Should we be concerned about condoms for this?”

“I’m not.” It’s more of a sigh than a statement. Kent taps Logan’s thigh, making him open his eyes.

“Focus, dude. I’ve been tested since I was last with someone. You?”

“Same,” Logan says. “But it’s cool if you’d rather wait.”

Kent dithers back and forth, then hauls himself up Logan’s body until they are chest to chest. And, even better, dick to dick.

“We’ll wait,” Kent tells him, feeling like both a responsible adult and a wet blanket. “At least until I can’t help myself.”

“Oh, that’s awesome,” Kent breathes later, his head resting on Logan’s smooth, strong chest.

“Not too bad,” Logan agrees. “Good thing I took the edge off.”

Kent cranes his neck to look at him curiously. “You what?” 

“I pulled it in the bathroom, when we first got here. I was so hot for you, I totally would have nut as soon as you touched me.”

He says this with no sign of self-consciousness, and Kent is struck again by his candor. “Really?”

Logan just shrugs. 

“Ha, okay. But I actually meant your tattoo.” From this perspective, looking down Logan’s body, Kent discovers that the word that said FAITH from one direction now says PRIDE, the LGBT rainbow more obvious.

“It’s called a symbiotogram. If my _abuelita_ should happen to see it, I’m just a good Catholic boy—which I am—but when I look at it, I’m also reminded that I’m out and proud.”

“Those things don’t conflict?”

“Not for me. I figure God made me this way, so he must be okay with it, even if the Church still needs to catch up to the twenty-first century.”

Logan rolls up onto his elbow, jostling Kent onto his own pillow. He reaches out and pokes at Kent’s cowlick, the one he usually hides under a snapback. Kent bats at his hand, but there’s no real effort behind it.

“I had a girlfriend before I was drafted,” Logan says, “—more of a friend who was a girl; I never slept with her and I identify as gay. I dated one of my teammates in Single-A, but he didn’t come out in 2017 when I did. Then I had a promiscuous phase I’m not really proud of. Being out publicly made it easy as fuck to hook up. My last relationship was a stable friends-with-benefits situation that ended in January when he met ‘the girl of his dreams,’” Kent can hear the quotation marks, “and I haven’t been with anyone since then.” He looks at Kent expectantly.

“Um, we’re doing this now?” Logan nods and Kent has to put real effort into rebooting his brain, slow and sated with afternoon sex. He vaguely thinks this sort of conversation should have preceded the hand jobs.

“I had a long-term relationship that ended a couple of years ago,” Kent says, declining to talk about his own pre-draft relationship, but still going back about same number of years Logan had. “I’ve dated a few guys since then, all pretty casual. It’s hard to find someone who understands my schedule and the demands of hockey season.”

“Just guys?”

“Yeah, totally gay. I dated a couple of women early in my career, but it was mostly for show.”

“So Ace of Hearts isn’t really about you?” Logan asks, referring to the Taylor Swift song that was ubiquitous in late 2018. He hums a few bars and then sings, his voice surprisingly good. “’You’re the ace of hearts, tearing me apart. You’re the ace of clubs, making me come undone.’”

The song was widely rumored to be written about Kent, who was papped in Vegas with Taylor multiple times that fall. Neither of them ever denied it.

Kent laughs, a bit embarrassed, and runs his hand through his already messy hair, then rests it on the back of his own neck. “Actually, it is. But we’re just friends. Like I said, totally gay.

“And I’m not really into making a scene—that was sort of a fluke because she needed a buddy in Vegas and her publicist knows mine…I mean, I’d already come out. Yeah, mostly I just hang with my friends on my team.” He pauses. “My old team.”

It’s easy to get a little maudlin, thinking about the relationships he’d left behind in Vegas. Logan seems to get it. He reaches for Kent’s hand.

“Kent Parson, will you be my boyfriend?”

Kent stares at Logan, trying to process the question. “April fools?”

“No, for real. We’re obviously compatible. Easy conversation. Similar interests. The sex is good and will only get better. I think we should lock this shit down.”

“That’s…kind of quick, right?”

Logan shrugs again. “I’m pretty comfortable with commitment—and you’re a catch. Smart and curious. A good listener and actually interested in other people. Admirable. Totally gorgeous, obviously.”

Kent feels like his heartbeat must be loud enough for Logan to hear. No one ever says those sorts of things to someone they’ve just met—at least not in his experience. And Logan didn’t mention money or fame. Doesn’t seem like he’s a gold-digger or just looking to get his face on tv. Kent doesn’t doubt that Logan has his own professional career, with big money and name recognition, still to come.

“I also hate condoms.”

Kent startles from his thoughts, and laughs, able to breathe again. “Is this what it will be like? You showering me with compliments?”

“If that’s what makes you happy. Or I can try to keep my feelings to myself, if you’re uncomfortable, but I’ve been told I’m pretty transparent.

You’ve already made a difference in my life. And now I want to be in yours.”

What can Kent say to that? The sincerity in Logan’s voice is evident. In fact, that’s what has made this date different than any other Kent’s ever been on. Better. Because Logan’s not playing games. Logan likes him and told him so. No playing hard to get. No waiting three days before he calls again. He’s eager, and fearless.

And…he’s twenty-one.

But does that really matter? The media might have something to say about it, but they’re both out, and both adults, so whatever.

Kent takes a deep breath and thinks that this year—the year he turns thirty—must be all about trying new things, because here he is in Seattle, with a new team and a new house. And a new relationship?

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do this.”

**8\. Don’t Hurt Anybody on Your Way Up to the Light**

They rummage through Kent’s fridge and make some meatballs and red sauce for dinner. Kent likes cooking, though sometimes it’s hard to find the time and motivation. Now that he gets his groceries delivered, it’s a lot easier to have the ingredients on hand when he gets the urge to both stay in and eat well.

“Tomorrow, I’ll make breakfast,” Kent tells Logan, as he puts the plates in the dishwasher. “Probably just omelets, since we fly out at eleven. Some other morning I can bake scones. I’ve got some Georgia peach jam a friend made for me that’s pretty incredible.”

“I shouldn’t stay,” Logan says. “You play the Aces tomorrow and I’m headed to Sacramento. If I sleep over, there might not be much sleep happening.”

“Okay, sure.” Kent knows he must sound a bit petulant, but boyfriends. Hookups slip out of bed and out the door before dawn, but boyfriends drink coffee together in their underwear and share a shower and leave the house at the same time. Maybe Logan's expectations are different. Maybe this isn’t going to work out.

“Hey,” Logan says softly, breaking Kent from his thoughts. He reaches out a warm hand to cup the back of Kent’s neck. “Next time, okay? I don’t need to get back to Tacoma right away, I just shouldn’t stay all night.”

_X_

Lermontov looks up as Kent walks into the locker room, already tugging at the knot in his tie. 

“It was a good date, da? I can tell by face.”  
“One of the best,” Kent admits, surprised that he means it. “You’ll meet him soon.”

_X_

“So I apparently have a boyfriend now,” Kent says when Kendra finally brings her usual rant about misogyny in biological science academia to a halt.

“In Seattle? You’ve been there all of four weeks! How long have you been seeing him?”

“I met him yesterday.” Kendra laughs, and Kent can’t help but laugh with her. He knows this is ridiculous. He’s had exactly two boyfriends in his life before now. And both of those relationships had taken a significant time to evolve from friendship to something more.

“Are you shitting me?”

“No, not at all. I mean I met him in Arizona at the ASG fan fair. Just said hi. He plays professional baseball—minor league for the Mariners, but hoping to be called up any time. Then we went out for lunch yesterday.”

“Not many Russians in baseball.”

“I don’t have a thing for Russians,” Kent protests. “That was just a coincidence. And Taras is Ukranian, anyway.”

“Okay, tell me more about this guy who plays with balls.”

“Haha. He’s originally from Las Vegas and actually follows hockey. He’s… twenty-one.”

Kendra sighs. “Jeezus, Kipper. I’ve got undergrads older than that. Just fuck him and be done.”

A few seconds pass because Kent doesn’t know what to say to that, but Kiki, with all the insight of a twin, or maybe just a sister, just goes soft and fond. “Oh, you actually like him.” Then sharp again, “and you’ve already slept with him!”

Then they’re laughing again because Kendra Parson-Park is Kent’s favorite person in the world. They scroll Logan’s Instagram together and Kent […]

_X_

[Schooners play the Aces, and it’s really not as big of a deal as Kent expected. He doesn’t do anything stupid, like pass to a former teammate. They go out for drinks in Seattle that night.]

**. Learn Some Secrets, Never Tell**

[Lermontov is having post-concussion symptoms that he’s keeping quiet. Kent thinks that’s crazy, and they argue about it. But Kent is pointedly reminded that he’s not Dima’s captain any more. 

So what’s your thing with Lermontov? I heard you made him part of your deal.

Hockey players gossip like old hens.]

“We became friends when I was a rookie,” Kent says simply. There’s a million things he doesn’t say. Like how Monty’s dark hair and sky blue eyes felt like home. Like how his solid, quiet presence kept Kent from shaking apart that first season in Vegas. Like how learning Russian opened the door to his captaincy since at the time the Aces had the league’s highest percentage of players from Russia and the post-Soviet states. 

[Some backstory on Dima Lermontov. Drafted by the Caps, but traded to the Aces in 2007.]

**10\. Scream when Captured**

Just because they’re boyfriends doesn’t mean they see each other. Logan is an hour south in Tacoma with the Rainiers, and Kent is thinking ahead to playoff season, which, as he well knows, is a hard slog. It’s not a great time to be nurturing a new relationship. But he trusts that Logan will understand. And if he doesn’t, well, at least they tried. Hockey and Kent’s single-minded quest for another championship aren’t going away anytime soon.

For first few weeks, they have to be content with video calls and a ton of texts back and forth. It’s a nice way to get to know each other, a much calmer pace than that first date. Less intense, but still intimate.

Then Kent has a four-day break before he flies to San Jose for the first two games of round one. He spends the first day watching tape and trying to relax. Unless they can win in four or five games, there won’t be many days off between series. Presuming, of course, that they remain contenders.

But the thing about sex is that once you’re having it again, it’s on your mind all. the. time. In the many months since Kent’s last sexual relationship, masturbation has become pretty mechanical. In the shower. Slick it up. Get it done. Wash it off. But now he finds himself thinking. Fantasizing even. About biting the space between Logan’s shoulder blades. About the push and pull of skin against skin. About the masculine smell of exertion and release. About all the parts of sex that Skype can’t replace.

On the second day of his break, knowing the Rainiers are playing at home, Kent cracks.

Kent: I owe you breakfast, any chance you want to come up after your game?

Logan: You could come here. Otherwise I’m driving to Seattle at 10 tonight. 

Kent considers it—he hasn’t even been to one of Logan’s games yet—  
but Logan shares a cheap apartment with two other guys. Straight guys. And Kent’s aware that being cool with having a gay roommate is different than being cool with listening to said roommate having sex through thin walls.

Kent: I live alone.

Logan: Point taken. I just have to be back in Tacoma by noon.

_X_

“I still haven’t bought condoms,” Kent confesses as they rub against each other on the couch, still half-clothed. It’s approaching midnight and he should be getting rest, not getting off. “But I will before next time.”

They’d each tested negative for the usual things, and Kent feels good—great even—about oral. But condoms are still his preference for anything else.

“About that,” Logan starts, and he looks vaguely uncomfortable for the first time Kent has seen. It’s not a good look. “I’m actually not into penetrative sex.”

He pauses and Kent realizes he’s supposed to respond. “No problem,” he says evenly, hoping his disappointment doesn’t show. “You’ve tried it, though?”

Logan shrugs. “Didn’t do much for me to bottom. And—hookups aside—no one I’ve ever been in a relationship with has offered…”

With some guys, that might be a leading comment or even a challenge, but Kent senses that Logan is just stating the facts.

“So you’re not adverse, you’ve just never found anyone who wants to take that anaconda on the regular.”

“Shut up,” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “Not adverse; not squeamish. Rimming is good, giving and receiving. If you want my fingers…”

“I do…And if I want more?”

Logan looks at Kent closely, then unconsciously licks his bottom lip. “Maybe? Someday?”

Maybe someday. Kent wonders if Logan’s actually had a bad experience.

[Mom coming, so not available, although also not sure what their plan is. I can get tickets for you both. That would be cool.]

“Just a warning: my mom isn’t really…traditional. She might not be what you expect.”

“So she’s not the stay-at-home, make-her-baby-boy-tamales kind of mom?”

Logan grimaces. “No, she’s more of the go-to-the-club, pretend-she doesn’t-have-a-kid kind of mom. And she’s not even Honduran, she’s Polish.”

“Wait, you’re half Polish?”

“Yep. Mazurkiewicz. Although she shortened it to Mazz as soon as she turned eighteen.”

Kent can’t suppress his goofy smile. “What’s your middle name?”

“Danger,” Logan says without pause.

Kent’s highly skeptical. “Danger is your middle name?”

Logan shoots finger guns at Kent, but then starts to laugh. “Okay, okay. I was named after my dad: Alejandro.”

“Mom’s name second with Hispanic names, right?” Then Kent says very carefully, trying not to stumble, “Logan Ala-hondro Gomez Maz-urk-a-witz?”

“Close enough.”

“Woah. That’s a real mouthful.”

“I think you said the same thing last night.”

_X_

Logan wasn’t joking when he said that his mom wasn’t what Kent would expect. The woman standing beside Logan is tall and stacked, with a lot of bleach blonde hair and showing more leg than one usually sees at a hockey game. She’s wearing three-inch wedges and has a Tinkerbell tattoo on her right ankle. Kent would bet his bonus that she has a navel piercing.

She’s also really young. Like, Kent could probably get away with dating her, if he swung that way.

He remembers his manners just in time to put out his hand as she moves in for a hug. The collision is awkward, but Kent doesn’t think this whole meeting could be anything else. 

“It is so nice to meet you, Kent,” she gushes, voice breathy, and the hug is a little more full-body than is appropriate for meeting your son’s boyfriend. She smells like cotton candy. And over-familiarity.

He pulls away and sees Logan frowning over her shoulder. “Steph, this is Kent Parson. And Kent, this is my mom, Steph Mazz.”

“You’re even hotter in person than on tv!”

Kent runs his hand through his hair, still damp from his shower. “Thanks?”

“I kept that ESPN magazine issue under my bed for years. You know the one,” she stage whispers. Logan looks really uncomfortable. More so when she turns to him: “I bet you had one too.”

“I know I could use a drink right about now,” Kent says, and it’s the truth, as well as a way to change the subject. It sucks to be up by two points in the first period, only to lose by one, but he wasn’t really expecting to sweep the series.

_X_

They take separate cars to a small restaurant that claims to be authentically mid-century modern, but which really means the décor hasn’t been updated since the 60s—orange vinyl seats, amber pendant lamps, wood paneling. They settle into a booth with Kent and Logan on one side and Steph facing them. 

Kent is usually good at making innocuous small talk with strangers, but Logan’s mother doesn’t seem to have much interest in baseball as a game and even less in hockey. She also doesn’t seem to have much interest in Logan as a person, focusing all her attention on Kent.

“So, do you also like women?” is her opening line, and Kent is almost surprised that the bare ball of her foot isn’t pressed to his crotch. Instead, and much more welcome, Kent feels Logan push his thigh, warm and solid, against his own.

“Stephanie,” Logan warns. “That’s not your business.”

“What? Either you’ve had this conversation, so who cares? Or you haven’t and you’re dying to know.”

Kent chooses to deflect. “So what do you do in Vegas?” he asks. Rule one of social interaction is to get the other person talking about themselves.

“I work the cage at the Pagoda,” she says, naming the Strip’s newest hotel and casino, yet another example of Las Vegas appropriating foreign cultures for fun and profit.

It takes him a moment to realize that she means she’s a cashier at the casino. Because for a moment it sounded like she was a stripper.

“But before that I was a dancer.” She winks and he realizes he wasn’t so far off.

“How old is she anyway?” Kent leans in to ask Logan when Steph excuses herself to the ladies room a few minutes later.

“She was sixteen when I was born. I told you I was raised by my grandma, right? My dad’s mom—the Honduran one.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t mention that your mother had been just a kid.”

Logan shrugs. “It’s a family tradition. My grandma was 17 when my dad was born. My parents were both 16. If I were straight, I’d probably have a kid in kindergarten now.”  
Kent blinks, trying to comprehend. His own parents had been in their late 30s when he and his sister were born—after they had both gotten their doctorates, and tenure.

He considers his own family to be pretty normal: a dad and a step-mom, a twin sister who looks out for him, and a half-brother who looks up to him. A dead mom.

“Steph shows up every few years, takes me out to eat, asks me how life is. I guess she doesn’t give me much thought otherwise.

“I came out to her when I was fifteen and her only comment was how much she ‘adored gay men.’”

“Ooh, are you talking about me? Only good things, I hope,” Steph breaks in as she returns to the booth.

When she sets her purse on the table, Kent hears the distantly familiar rattle of a half empty pill bottle. Looking closer, he sees that her eyes are a little too bright, her pupils a little too big.

Of course lots of people take medications. Necessarily. As prescribed by their doctors. Shit, he himself takes a muscle relaxant when his shoulder is bothering him.

But finding your first boyfriend OD’d on the bathroom floor really leaves an impression on a guy. And Kent’s kept far away from addicts ever since. In fact, the Aces are known for being one of the cleanest teams around, mostly thanks to their former captain’s zero-tolerance policy.

He needs a moment to himself to think. “We need more drinks,” he says, falsely chipper. “I’ll be back.”

This all suddenly seems like too much. He really likes Logan, but he doesn’t know him well. And three weeks isn’t even a blip on the radar, especially at this time of year. Maybe he needs to call a halt to the relationship, at least until after playoffs. But his contract will expire then and he doesn’t know where he’ll be next year and…

Logan finds him at the bar, the ice in three cocktails melting in front of him. 

“I knew this was the worst idea ever,” Logan says. “I called a Lyft and sent her back to her hotel.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kent lies. “I think I’m going to head home. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

“Nah, don’t bother.” He leaves Logan standing there alone.

**11\. Feast like Pagans (Never Get Enough)**

[Kent works through his issues, and they continue their relationship. The playoffs continue.]

“Congratulations!” Kendra says, pride evident in her voice. The Schooners just clinched the Western Conference championships, and are headed to the Stanley Cup finals. Seattle Schooners versus the Washington Capitals.

“So, this morning I got a calendar notification to book tickets to Vegas for July.”

Kent puts it together immediately. “For our birthday. Well, shit.”

“I take it, that’s not going to happen.”

Kent blows out a noisy breath. “No. That should have been cancelled months ago.”

[Maybe I really do need to hire a personal assistant.  
Back to the party. Let’s have it here in Seattle. Logan has a game that day.]

_X_

[Stanley Cup Playoffs. Schooners lose in game 6 to the Capitals, who in this timeline have never won a cup. Kent is crushed, of course, but happy for his friend Alex Ovechkin, who has been the Cap’s powerhouse goal maker until this year. Ovi never did play again because of his injury, and announces his retirement right after the cup final. It’s all bittersweet.]

**12\. Sing One for the Old Times**

Kent’s flown into McClarren more than five hundred times over the past eleven years. It feels different this time; he’s never arrived as a visitor before.

He’s in Las Vegas for the 2020 NHL Awards and then to catch the Rainiers four game series against the Aviators. Logan’s been on the road for over a week already, first Reno, then Salt Lake, so Kent’s looking forward to seeing him.

He’s not so sure he’s looking forward to the other part of this visit: meeting Logan’s grandmother.

“It’s not a big deal,” Logan said, when they realized their trips to Vegas would overlap. “It’s not a ‘meet-the-in-laws’ visit, it’s just seeing where I grew up and eating some legit Honduran _baleadas_.”

“Have you ever taken anyone—a guy—there to meet your grandma?”

Logan shook his head. “Here’s the thing, my _abuelita_ dotes on me. But she’s very Catholic and she thinks homosexuality is a sin. She’ll like you—you’re very charming—but she will totally ignore the fact that we’re together. She’ll ask you if you have a girlfriend and pat your hand sympathetically when you say you don’t.”

“So we’re supposed to pretend that we’re just bros?”

“Nah, her willful ignorance will completely erase anything too couple-y that she might see. Probably best not to bend me over the kitchen table, but otherwise, we’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t know bending you over a table was now an option,” Kent says, hoping that it sounds like a joke. Because it’s just a joke. They’ve talked a few more times about what Kent privately thinks of as the Penetration Issue, and he’s fine with what they’re up to. It’s just…sometimes he wants there to be even less space between them. Negative space.

Logan smiles, so everything’s fine.

[The morning of the awards ceremony, Logan calls to tell Kent he’s been called up to the Mariners! The big league! So he won’t be in Vegas after all, and plans to meet Logan's abuela are cancelled. Kent spends the awards surreptitiously checking on the Mariners/Cubs game.]

[Kent goes out that night with a bunch of other players. Happens to run into Taras, the old boyfriend, who invites Kent back to his place. But Kent admits he’s seeing someone. And yeah, he is happy.]

_X_

[Kent is invited to lunch by Josh Bell, the new interim GM of the Aces, who suggests that they would be happy to offer him a contract for the next year, maybe two. Kent still doesn’t know whether the Schooners will offer him a contract, but he’s made it clear that he would like to stay in Seattle.]

**13\. Hold Hands**

[The relationship progresses, although Logan is mostly still playing Triple-A, although sometimes he gets called up.]

“Fourteen-year-old me thought Imagine Dragons were the best band in the world, and Kent Parson was the hottest athlete ever.”

“You knew at fourteen?”

“That I was gay? Well, Steph wasn’t wrong—if I didn’t know it before, the number of times I got off to your pics in that Body Issue should’ve clued me in.”

“That’s just…weird. It’s sort of Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise, yeah? ”

“Hey, man,” Logan says, softly now. “That’s not us. –And isn’t he like twenty years older than she is?”

“Something like that. You know, I met her once; she’s actually really nice.”

Logan chuckles. “Not the point. Kent, I really like you. I’m not infatuated with some public persona of you. I like the guy who worries that his playoff beard isn’t epic enough; the guy who secretly would rather have a dog; the guy who liked to imagine he was playing quidditch instead of hockey.”

“In my defense, I was eleven—and desperately hoping my letter from Hogwarts had just been delayed.”

[…]

“What’s that?” Logan asks, looking at the violin case in the corner of the living room.

“Being a Vegas boy, I figured you’d recognize a tommy gun when you see one.”

Logan just punches Kent in the bicep. Not very hard. “Come on.”

“Every off-season, I try to learn something new in addition to taking a vacation, seeing my family, and training. I don’t want to have hockey be the only thing in my life. So this year, I’m learning to fiddle.”

Logan looks thoughtful. “What have you done in other years?”

“In 2010, I spent the summer in Moscow with Dima and learned Russian.” Kent then ticks them off on his fingers. “2011 was fly fishing in Montana, then black jack in Vegas after my first Cup, oil painting, shibari, and um, raptors.”

He hopes Logan doesn’t notice how his neck has gone hot, how he’s pretty embarrassed by his petty need back then to one-up Zimms by learning to handle real birds of prey the same summer Jack signed with the Falconers. Kent likes to think he’s grown a lot in the past five years.

But Logan goes for the low hanging fruit. “Isn’t shibari a bondage thing?”

Kent shrugs. “I knew a guy.”

“I don’t think that’s for me.” The concerned crease between Logan’s eyebrows is adorable.

Kent reaches up to ruffle his hair. “That’s okay, slugger. I’m six years out of practice anyway.”

“I was fifteen then,” Logan comments, deadpan, then laughs as he quickly turns out of the punch Kent aims back at him. “So, what else?”

“2016: trampoline. 2017: Zimms’ fiancé taught me to bake. Then ballet. Last year I got my private pilot’s license, and now violin.”

“Ballet?”

“Great for strength and flexibility.” He winks. “And I knew a guy.”

Logan considers all this information. “So what did you do the summer after your draft?”

“Therapy,” Kent says after a moment’s hesitation. “It was my first therapist, actually, who suggested doing something interesting with my summers.”

He knows that by saying first therapist that he’s admitting to having had more than one, but Logan doesn’t seem bothered.

“So you have a plane?”

**14\. Let this Whole Town Hear Your Knuckles Crack**

[Kent signs with Seattle, a 5 year deal. Kent goes house hunting, taking Logan with him to tour houses.]

**15\. Ride All Night**

[July 4: Kent and Kendra’s 30th. She comes to Seattle with husband (Jimmy). Logan has a home game against the Royals that afternoon. Then everyone celebrates at Joker’s house in Bellvue—Schooners and Mariners, a few of the Aces, Jack and Bitty. He put an offer on a house that morning.]

Kent’s phone is on silent, but he picks it up when it vibrates against the counter. It’s a text from Courtney, the real estate agent: Your offer has been accepted with no counter offers or contingencies. Congratulations and happy birthday. Time to put down roots in Seattle.

Kent looks up grinning to find Logan watching him. “We got the house!” Then he catches what he said and flushes. “I mean, the sellers accepted my offer. I’m buying the house by the park.”

[…]

Bitty says he was approached by the reality tv show, Hockey Wives. “They promised to change the name to ‘Hockey Spouses,’ bless their hearts.”

[…]

“You could have a threesome with Russell Wilson and it would be, like, the sexual trifecta of Seattle pro sports.”

“He’s not gay,” Kent says, as Logan responds, “He’s pretty old.”

Kent shoots Logan a look—he thinks the quarterback is probably his age. Logan looks a bit chagrinned. Not enough.

“Well, at least one of the Seahawks must be gay, right?” Brandy continues.

“Mase Archer,” Kent and Logan say together. They share another look and Kent knows they’re both thinking that they’d tap that. Dude is smokin’.

Brandy catches the look and laughs. “If I ever meet him, I’ll let him know you’re down.”

[…]

“I work in social media for the Brown Bears,” Bitty says, taking another pull from his beer bottle.

“I didn’t realize bears were in need of that kind of PR,” Logan says, deadpan, and Kent sort of loves him. “But I guess it must be hard to tweet with those big paws.”

Kent nudges his foot with his own. “You manage.”

Logan pushes back. “Shut up.”

“I’ll just leave you two to your moment,” Bitty says with a soft smile, and he’s already looking around for Jack.

“No, no, don’t listen to this asshole,” Logan says, catching Bitty’s eye again. “I’m really interested. College athletics, right?”

“Brown University. It’s a good job, but not really my passion. I’m also finishing up a cookbook manuscript that I want to pitch next year. The working title is Southern Food for Northern Eaters.”

“So everything’s made with lots of butt-ah?”

Kent knows Eric Bittle is naturally friendly and accepting, but he’s also well acquainted with Bitty’s false smile, the icy one that never meets his eyes. It had been turned on him often enough in the first year of their acquaintance. So Kent’s really happy to see Bitty reach up to squeeze Logan’s arm, genuinely laughing at the comment.

“But seriously, Kent’s scones are pretty awesome and I guess you’re to thank for that.”

“Kent’s a quick learner, aren’t you, honey?”

“I take directions well,” Kent says in response to Bitty, but he’s looking at Logan.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Okay, really, now I am leaving y’all to make eyes at each other. I need a refill.”

Kent’s phone buzzes in his pocket in quick succession. It’s a pair of texts from Bitty.

Sat, July 4, 2020 11:47 PM  
**Eric Bittle:** He’s a keeper.

 **Eric Bittle:** I’ve never seen you happier.

Kent smiles and goes to help pick up.

[Erasmus Jokela, the Schooners captain, pulls Kent aside to confess that he’s going to give up the NHL to go back to Finland. His daughter has some medical issues, and Joker and his wife want to be near their families. He tells Kent that he’s going to recommend Kent for the captaincy.]

**16\. Stay Sick, Don’t Get Well**

“So what’s the diagnosis, slugger?”

Logan’s been fighting chills, a sore throat, and muscle aches for close to a week now. “Mono,” he says, dropping his duffle by the front door and sinking into a chair to untie his shoes.

“I’m on the 15-day disabled list. Which doesn’t do my career much good, but I’m so grateful.” His words have been slowing as he talks and by the time he’s at the end of the sentence he sounds nearly asleep.

Mono. The only time Kent ever had mono, he was seventeen. And Zimms had it too, which could have been a giveaway, but fortunately no one automatically assumes teammates with the same communicable disease must be banging.

“Anyone else on the team have it?” he asks Logan. Which is totally uncool, but whatever. Kent Parson is the first to admit he’s kind of an asshole.

“Not that I’ve heard…I’m going to bed if that’s okay. You want me to take the guest room? I don’t want to give it to you.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He helps Logan up the stairs into the master bedroom and out of his clothes. “I’ll bring you a glass of water and some Advil, then you should rest all you can.”

[How did I think this would be a whole chapter?]

**17\. Make Up Magic Spells**

[Kent moves into his new mid-century modern house in Capitol Hill. Logan is still playing for the Rainiers.]

“Of course I’ve been recalled. It’s Pride Night and I’m the token gay.”

“You sound bitter, but this is a good thing, right? You want to play major league, right?”

“Yeah,” Logan says, deflating a little. “I just want to make it on my own merits.”

“This isn’t your debut. They’re not calling you up just for Pride Night. You’ve just gotten over mono; it’s logical that they would recall you now.” Kent reaches for Logan and wraps him in a hug. “Besides, the Mariners have other out players to trot around. There’s…” he snaps his fingers behind Logan’s back, as if the name is on the tip of his tongue, “Peña!” How could he forget a name that reminds him of the word penis?

“Bi. And recently married to a woman, so not exactly a poster boy for the queer baseball revolution.”

“Well, odds are there are others.”

Logan shrugs noncommittally and Kent guesses that he probably knows someone else. “Not out to the public—and exclusively into dick. As far as I know.”

Kent pulls away to be able to look Logan in the face, leaving his hands on Logan’s hips. “Okay, so maybe it’s not a complete coincidence that you’re being recalled now. But it’s still a major league ball game.

“And I’ll be there to cheer—and I’m sure I can get some of my guys to come.”

Logan smiles at that. “Your guys. Look at you, Mr. Seattle Schooners soon-to-be Captain.”

“Shut up.”

**18\. Clutch Those Broken Headboards**

[sex? I don’t remember what I had planned here.]

**19\. Babble On and On**

They always have their best talks in bed in the morning. Leaning against the headboard, watching the first light play in the leaves outside the picture window is Kent’s second favorite thing to do in his new bedroom.

“Nice. So what are you thinking? Sports management? Nutrition?” Kent asks, when Logan nervously mentions he wants to go to college, get a degree.

“You’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s just that all my life has been about baseball. I don’t know anything else. I wasn’t smart enough to spend my off seasons learning to paint kittens or land a plane. I spend my off seasons playing more ball.”

Kent waits patiently to hear what else he has to say.

“But baseball is punishing. The travel, the possibility of injury. You’ve got eighty games in a season? Well, major league ball has twice that. And how do you put down roots, have a healthy relationship? I’m lucky that my triple-A is just down the road in Tacoma, but then again, I could get traded at any moment and end up far, far away. And I really like Seattle.”

“I like you in Seattle,” Kent says seriously, and when did he become such a sap?

Logan turns to look at Kent, all green eyes and long lashes. “I think I want a career completely outside of baseball.” He gives a little laugh and Kent can see that he’s trembling. Just a bit. “Jeez, coming out was easier than admitting this.”

Kent brushes his thumb across Logan’s cheekbone. “You can have whatever you want, slugger.”

“I’ve travelled a lot in the last five years. Seen a lot of cities. U-Dub has an undergrad degree in Community, Environment and Planning. Sort of an urban studies program. I could have a regular life…” he trails off.

“That sounds good,” Kent assures him. “I know none of us is going to be a pro forever. Barring injury, I’ve only got about eight more years myself—there’s only one Jagr—and I’m not really sure what I want to do when I retire.”

Logan twists the sheet in his hands. “I don’t mean someday in the far future. I’m thinking about getting out now. Before next season.”

“What?! Ball is going good for you! You’ll be on the 25-man roster next year for sure.”

“Yeah, and every spring spend two months in Arizona, followed by six months on the road, another month of playoffs if we’re lucky.”

“That’s a lot,” Kent admits. He’s been planning a career in hockey—and all the sacrifices it entails—since he was fourteen.

Logan bites his lip. “And my season will always be opposite yours. There’s never a time at least one of us won’t be travelling.”

And it’s not like Kent hasn’t thought of this. But hearing it from Logan is like hitting the ice hard without pads. Even though you see it coming, it’s surprisingly painful.

“I know, I know. It’s too early to be worried about that,” Logan interrupts Kent’s thoughts. “But I am. I love you. This has a future, right? Me and you?”

Kent wraps Logan in his arms and holds him. “Yeah, of course. I love you, too.” And he realizes that it’s true; sometime in the last […]

[…]

“Bryce Harper Plan?”

“Do a bit of high school, get my GED, play a season at a two-year college, get drafted in the top five at 17, basically skip the minors. But I sprained my thumb that year in junior college and my stock dropped. Like a rock. While Harper was the number one draft pick his year, I didn’t get picked until the second round, number sixty. And then Harper was called up at 19 and I’m lucky to be taxi-ing.

“I’d been expecting a lot more money than what I was finally offered. I think some guys wouldn’t have signed, would’ve gone to school and tried again in a few years. And maybe that’s what I should have done, too. But I didn’t want to be a Brady Aiken.”

Kent knows he must look confused because Logan takes a breath and explains. “Aiken was the number one pick in 2014 but he had some health issues and was only offered five mil to sign with the Astros. He didn’t sign, went to school for a year and was drafted again in 2015—but for just two and a half.”

“You were worried you wouldn’t do better the next time out.”

“Yeah, and I also really liked the idea of playing with the Mariners. As a center fielder, Ken Griffey Jr. was my hero.”

“But don’t a lot of ball players stay in the minor leagues until their late twenties?”

“Yeah, trying to support families on what’s basically minimum wage. I’m lucky, I got over a mil for my signing bonus and I’ve been smart with it.”

Kent knows Logan is frugal. His car is old and functional, and he shares his Tacoma apartment with two other guys. In contrast, the month after Kent was drafted, long before his multi-million dollar performance bonus was actually earned, he bought himself the condo near the Strip and the most expensive watch he could find. His therapist helped him see he was overcompensating for his impostor complex—that feeling that he wasn’t really good enough to be the number one pick. He’s grown up a lot since then.

“I love the game,” Logan says, and he looks sad, “but I don’t love my career. Maybe I’m already an old man, but I’m kind of over the ‘boys of summer’ fantasy.”

“I didn’t even know I had a boys-of-summer fantasy until this year.” Kent can’t help but go for the easy joke to try and break Logan out of his mood. 

[Kent is really uncomfortable with the idea that Logan is even talking about leaving baseball. He believes in education – sister Kendra is about done with her PhD in wildlife biology, his dad teaches at Cornell University – but hockey was always his dream, and he can’t imaging just “throwing it all away” and implies that’s what Logan is doing.]

Kent may only have a high school education, but he’s no dumb jock. He passably speaks two foreign languages and can say “welcome to the team” in every language spoken by an Aces rookie or trade in the past ten years. He reads books, dammit, and has a multitude of interests outside of hockey.

**20\. Find the One Safe Way**

[Early September: Jack and Bitty get married in Montreal. Bitty and Kent have a surprising heart-to-heart about finding The One. Logan is still playing ball and can’t attend.]

**21\. Try Not to Hate the Light**

[More about Dima Lermontov (aka Monty): His wife Masha Lermontov liked Washington, DC, but hated Las Vegas. That was well known in the organization: players, staff, and the other wives all knew it.

She was the kind of woman who would wear real fur if Vegas winters didn’t average 50 degrees—and certainly did when she was in Russia.

He’s not cleared for training camp and is put on IR. He’s depressed and figures his career is over. Masha didn’t bother to come back to the States after the off-season concluded, and he thinks his marriage is over, too.]

[So the previous chapter was about marital bliss and this one is about marital strife.]

**22\. Speak Into the Microphone**

[Kent is named captain of the Seattle Schooners, and does a bunch of interviews]

**23\. Rise in the Darkness (Of the Gathering Day)**

[The 2020-21 NHL season starts]  
[Logan is taking “a couple of classes” at the University of Washington]

**24\. See Two Young Savage Things**

[Kent’s half-brother, Gordie,18 and a senior in high school, comes to check out the University of Washington, and catch a game. Since Kent has practice and games, Logan plays tour guide. And Kent is hella jealous, even though Gordie is straight and nothing is going on. At all. But Gordie speaks fluent Spanish (exchange student in Costa Rica), and there are only 4 years between him and Logan. Kent feels his age.]

**25\. Do Every Stupid Thing That Makes You Feel Alive**

“I don’t want a career in Triple-A.”

[Logan admits that he’s taking a full load, and is an official first year student at UW. And he’s not going to spring training in February, but is going to continue to go to school.]

**26\. Jump in Front of Trains All Day**

[So Kent breaks up with him, for his own good]

**27\. Sleep like dead men (Wake up like dead men)**

“He’s being stupid,” Kent says again. He sounds angrier every time it comes out of his mouth. “He can’t just walk away. I won’t let him, not for me. We could have made this work. As two pros. No one who has this much talent—who has put in this much effort and sacrifice—should be allowed to just quit. He’s not a quitter.”

Kendra just listens calmly as her brother rants. He’ll wear himself out eventually.

“I can’t believe he’s really going to do it. And he lied. To me.” 

She’s already heard this part as well.

“I’m just so disappointed.” Kent flops over on the couch, worn out.

“Kip, look at me.” He turns to look at his computer screen, where his sister sits calmly at her kitchen table, surrounded by student papers she had been grading. She looks at him with understanding and fondness, but also some exasperation.

“You may not want to hear this, but this isn’t really about you…”

“No, it is,” Kent interrupts. “He kept talking about how much easier it would be to be together if only one of us travelled, only one of us had a pro career.”

“He may have said that, but this wasn’t a sudden decision. It couldn’t have been. How long has he been taking a full load of classes.”

“He’s been taking sixteen credits since the end of September.”

“And when do you think freshmen have to apply to go to a school like the University of Washington?”

“Before the start of term, obviously. He brought up the school idea this summer, after I bought the house.”

Kendra shakes her head. “You don’t really get how college admissions work, do you? To be admitted for this fall, he probably had to apply last year—before he even met you. This idea has been brewing for a long time.”

Kent gives that some thought. “Why would he apply for school before he even got called up to the Mariners? And why would he still choose to go, now that he’s played for them? He’s so good, it’s just a matter of time before he’s on the 25-man roster. Maybe even next season.”

“You’d have to ask him that. And listen to his answer.”

“I think…I think he already tried to tell me, but I couldn’t hear him over the sound of my own anxiety. Losing my career before I’m ready is literally my worst fear.”

“Kent, I think that’s exactly the point Logan’s trying to make. He is ready to leave professional sports. He’s choosing. And he’s choosing now.”

**28\. Wish the Snow Away**

[Kent spends Thanksgiving in Montana with Kendra and Jimmy. They learn they are expecting a baby. Kent thinks a lot about what family means, and what he wants.]

**29\. Find Where the Heat’s Unbearable**

“Are you still planning to stay in Seattle for the holiday?”

“Yeah, there’s enough time to get back to Dad and Pamela’s, but I’m not really feeling it. I have three at home starting on the 27th and I’d really only be going to Ithaca for Gordie.”

“You’re in Vegas on the 23rd, right? Maybe you should spend Christmas there.”

“Kiki, none of those guys wants me hanging around now.”

Kent’s sister gives him her patented not-impressed look. “I wasn’t thinking of the Aces…”

“No,” he says before she can go on. “I’m not just going to show up on his grandmother’s doorstep, all ‘is Logan home?’ I’m not really a big dramatic gesture kind of guy.”

Kendra coughs into her hand. It sounds suspiciously like “Jack.” She does it again and it sounds like “Samwell.”

“Yeah, yeah. And look where that got me.”

“Well, there’s rom-com knocking-on-the-front-door-as the-snow-falls gestures, and there’s rubbing the Stanley Cup in someone’s face.”

They’ve had this discussion before. Hell, he’s discussed his ill-advised trips to Samwell with Kendra, Tarushka, three different therapists, and, finally, Jack himself. “It won’t be snowing in Vegas,” is all he can think to respond.

“You miss him.”

“For all I know, he’s seeing someone else.”

“It hasn’t even been six weeks. Find out. Reach out. You’ve been a sad piece of shit lately.” She pokes her finger at her computer screen, “And stop telling yourself it was for his own good. Only Logan gets to decide that.”

[…]

[First game back in Vegas. Standing O and a tribute video. Loses his front tooth in second period, but plays in the third, netting GWG.

Knows Aces dentist of course. If this had to happen, it couldn’t have happened in a better place.

He has scar on his forehead, but has never lost teeth. Somewhere early on, he chronicles his scars for Logan: clavicle, forehead, shoulder…]

**30\. Crawl 'till Dawn (On my Hands and Knees)**

[Kent goes to Henderson, meets Logan’s grandma]

Kent really needs to stop making assumptions about Logan’s family. The woman standing at the door is not the sweet, tiny Honduran _abuelita_ that Kent imagined.

She’s tall and thin, her dark hair pulled into a severe bun on the nape of her neck. She must have just come from work; she’s still wearing her housekeeping uniform: blue short sleeved shirt with a crisp white collar, black pants, and sensible shoes. The name embroidered on her shirt is Alma.

Kent knows he looks like a mess. Both lips are split and swollen, his jaw is purple-black with a bruise shaped like the state of California. He still tries to give a winning smile.

“Ith Logan home?” he lisps. “I’m…”

“I know who you are.” She looks him up and down. “That looks like it hurts,” she says indicating his face with the tip of her head. Her accent is barely noticeable.

**31\. Try to Explain Ourselves**

[Talk, sex]

He strips off his shirt and there, shiny and raised, is a fresh tattoo. It’s a sacred heart unlike any Kent’s seen before. The heart is anatomically correct and the thorns that encircle it appear to bite wickedly into the muscle. The flames shooting from the aorta lick up his chest to his collar bone. It’s beautiful.

He leans forward to look at it more closely. The details are fine, the color brilliant. Logan’s skin is swollen with pigment and Kent reaches out to touch it without thinking. It’s hot under his fingertips. He traces the edge of the glowing flames, the blue vena cava, the drip of blood where it leaves the puncture wound and falls down Logan’s smooth chest.

Logan grabs Kent’s wrist with his left hand and Kent looks up from his reverie, startled. Logan’s eyes are dark and intense. Seconds pass and neither of them breathe.

[…]

“Marry me?”

Anyone else and Kent would laugh it off, but this is Logan “I Just Met You and This is Crazy” Gomez. He still has to ask.

“You’re serious?”

“Serious as an extra inning in game seven.”

“Do I need to remind you that we haven’t even spoken in two months?”

“I don’t care. My plan was to propose at Christmas all along, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll wait eight more weeks.”

“So…,” Kent does some quick addition, “Valentine’s Day? That’s so chee…”

Logan cuts him off with a kiss and then says softly against Kent’s ear, “I want to marry you this summer and go on an incredible honeymoon—which we can do because we both have the summer off. I want us to get a puppy and take him running in Interlaken Park. I want to be there when you win the Stanley Cup with the Schooners. And I want you to be there when I graduate from U-Dub.”

Kent pulls back to look Logan in the eye and sighs. “That does sound nice.”

“I want to watch you grow old,” Logan says, all sappy, then gets a wicked grin, “knowing that I’ll always be a young stud in comparison.”

Kent doesn’t know what he did to deserve this guy, but he’s humbled and grateful.

“Yes, okay,” he says, his voice not much more than a whisper. Then with more confidence. “In July. In Vegas.”  
“Seriously?” Logan asks, green eyes wide and bright.

Kent can’t keep from smiling. “Serious as overtime in game seven.”

**32\. Shroud Ourselves in the Cosmos**

“I’m thinking of taking up baseball this summer. Seems like an easy, relaxing game.”

“Ha. Ha. I think you mean golf.”

“Three! … Two! … One! … Happy New Year!” [end of fic]

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter names from The Mountain Goats.


End file.
